


A certain knot of peace

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Series: A certain knot of peace [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, M/M, Or even Madisilverflinthamilton, Since I'd like to swaddle them all in blankets and let them be happy together, Tiptoeing towards Silverflinthamilton, Treasure Island who?, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 03:10:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12667041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: "I should let you go back to bed," Silver said quietly. He pulled his hands out of Flint's. As he stood the blanket slipped from his shoulders.Flint stayed seated. He put a hand on Silver's hip. "Come with me."Or: a respite.





	A certain knot of peace

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a break from a larger story, because my brain is never ever going to accept 4x10 as the final word on these characters. (Louis Stevenson? Never heard of him.)
> 
> Thanks, as always, to [clenster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clenster/pseuds/clenster). <3

Silver could not say what had woken him. Thunder, either off a distance or dreamt; a branch trailing one ragged fingernail along the bedroom window pane; an owl high in that same old tree, taking flight to swoop down on some furred dinner which was racing through the underbrush for its life. Whatever he'd heard, he would not have paid it any mind, had he not turned over in the bed and glanced out the window at the exact moment a shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds -- settled in days ago and lingering like an unwelcome guest -- and illuminated a man standing in Madi's garden.

Silver rose from bed and with some difficulty found himself outside at a witching hour. The flame from a small candle in a candlestick he carried flickered, furious and warning. He trod the tamped dirt path as well as he could with his crutch, his nightshirt thin, the tie he'd gathered his hair back in relatively useless against the breeze.

"Thomas," he said.

Thomas did not turn. His pale hair reflected what little light there was to catch. His gaze was fixed far into the forest, into the trees full of shadows and tricksters concealed therein. Silver went closer, until he could touch Thomas's sleeve.

"Thomas," he repeated, and the man looked over then, as though he sensed but could not see the hand at his elbow.

"A fine evening," Thomas said.

Silver paused. "It is."

Thomas looked through him. Silver allowed himself to tighten his grip and step nearer.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Thomas said, possibly even to Silver.

Silver said, "We met some time ago. You may not remember me."

"Your voice is familiar."

"John Silver, at your service," though in truth Silver felt his presence barely counted as servitude in such a bizarre context. 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance. You must be a friend of James's."

Silver flinched. "Yes. We are old friends." Through the shirtsleeve Silver could feel the coolness of Thomas's skin. "Have you talked to James lately?" he asked. "Does he know where you are?"

"He's on assignment with the navy, but we expect he'll return in a few weeks," Thomas said. 

Something winging its way above them seemed to have his attention. A bat, maybe. Silver took a deep breath and tightened his grip, as much to prevent himself from shuddering as to prevent Thomas from any sudden movements away.

"Have you met my wife?" Thomas asked. "I feel she would like you."

"You hardly know me," Silver said, trying for a light tone, but felt a pang of guilt. "I have heard of your wife's cleverness, her kindness and beauty. She is said to be a rare woman."

(He had seen her only a few times, no fewer than three years agone. She had looked intimidating and beguiling and concerned. She had looked right standing beside Flint, tucking her tidy hair behind her ears. She had been, and continued to be, none of Silver's business; he thought this with more than a little uneasiness.)

"Yes," Thomas said, a look of pride on his face strange for its precision, when his gaze otherwise seemed to remain without a fixed target. "And of course she and James are very fond of one another. I cannot but think an evening spent in their company is the best of ways to pass the time. They talk of books, philosophy, art, recipes and radicals, sonnets and pamphlets and everything in between. I confess I rush to keep up with them; they leave me breathless in their wake."

Here Silver was utterly out of his depth. It was difficult to imagine Thomas Hamilton, under any circumstance short of burial, unable to keep pace with anyone, especially Miranda Hamilton or James McGraw. Captain Flint, Silver thought, would sooner stutter or trip over his own sword or steer a ship off a waterfall before Thomas Hamilton would be at a loss for words.

It had been thunder that woke Silver. Another rumble reeled along the sky. The wind sharpened. Thomas shivered, and the shiver rippled into Silver's palm.

"Perhaps your wife is inside and we should go look for her there," Silver suggested. He wondered if he was committing a more inexpiable than usual sin, to invoke Miranda as if to raise her from a slumber this Thomas, at this particular moment, did not know was an everlasting one.

"She will be charmed to meet you, I am certain," Thomas said. As Silver began to lead him back to the house he came without complaint.

The two steps up and through Thomas and Flint's back door were made more treacherous in the dim light, and with Thomas present yet not present. Silver was latching the door when the narrow entryway off the kitchen was illuminated by another candle.

"Look who it is, Thomas," Silver said, to announce the situation in as calm and loud a voice as possible. "Good evening, James. I see you have returned from your journey."

Flint's face as his eyes snapped from Thomas to Silver was a master work of fear, surprise, anger, confusion, relief. He had rushed to Thomas's side and Silver followed them into the kitchen.

Thomas didn't respond. He was further away now, Silver could tell. 

Flint was quick to understand. "Come, love," he said, his arm around Thomas's waist. "Let's go back to bed for a while longer."

Flint walked Thomas out of the kitchen, looking back once to see that Silver was staying.

Silver sat in a chair by the table where Flint and Thomas ate. The chill seemed more pervasive indoors than it had out; he was acutely aware of how absurd his nightshirt and one scuffed boot must appear.

He felt cold in his bones, a hollow, gray sort of ache.

He was rolling the tie out of the tangles of his hair when Flint returned with a blanket, which he draped around Silver's shoulders before moving the other chair beside Silver and sitting.

"Thank you for finding him," Flint said. He picked up Silver's hands and began rubbing the frost from them.

"It's not-- It was simple luck I saw him out there," Silver said.

"It's more than I was aware of. He crawled out of bed, dressed, and left; meanwhile I didn't as much as twitch from slumber myself until that last clap of thunder. I thought maybe he'd come out here for a drink of water. When I saw you coming in with him--" Flint sighed. "I'm glad you were with him."

"Does he do this often?"

"It's only happened once since we arrived back in England, that I know of."

"What causes it, do you think?"

Flint shrugged. "Miranda said he used to go through phases: she could not find a pattern, or origin. Apparently as a child he had a German nurse who thought he was being lured away to his death by a goblin king."

"Considering Thomas's father," Silver said, "that nurse sounds prescient."

Flint squeezed his hands as if in agreement. "I do know Thomas won't remember anything. Would that we could say the same for Alfred Hamilton."

"You're not at all sorry you killed him, are you?"

"No."

"Thomas spoke of Miranda," Silver said, wondering if it was right to divulge it -- which was silly, he knew. It was he, not Flint, who had little right to anything regarding her.

"Oh," Flint said, swallowing. He looked away down the hall, toward the bedroom, the pain on his face almost more than Silver could tolerate.

"I should let you go back to bed," Silver said quietly. He pulled his hands out of Flint's. As he stood the blanket slipped from his shoulders. 

Flint stayed seated. He put a hand on Silver's hip. "Come with me."

Silver stared. "I don't think that's wise."

"Sleep is always wise." The sharp sadness had retreated from Flint's eyes. And in the years since the legendary and terrible Captain Flint ruled the high seas James McGraw, alias James Barlow, commoner of no repute, had become a sleeper of unrivaled experience and ability. 

Flint's thumb stroked Silver's hipbone, marking seconds.

"He won't mind," Flint said, as if reading the question on Silver's face. "Nor, you know, would Madi. If she were here." Flint was deliberate, Silver knew, in his evocation of her.

Absent wives, Silver thought. Though at least mine is only away for a while.

"What?" Flint said, with a small half-smile.

"Thomas asked where you were. I suggested you were on a naval mission."

"Madi's mission may well put her in sight of the British navy," Flint admitted. "But she is a strong leader. You know she will come home safely."

"I don't know it," Silver bit out, a flare of frustration making his cheeks burn.

Flint nodded but did not remove his hand. "I miss her too," he said, like Silver had confided his specific loneliness for her aloud. "She will come home," he repeated, as if to convince himself as much as Silver. He watched Silver, a tenderness in his expression Silver wanted to hide from. "John," he said, "come to bed."

It had all been a mistake, Silver thought, with panic rising in his throat. That Flint, freed (or escaped, at any rate) and forgiving, sought him out was one thing, perhaps even logical in a twisted sort of way. That he dragged Thomas along, more unapt. That he and Thomas were renting part of the house Silver and Madi occupied, folly, albeit fiscally responsible.

That Flint had been in Silver's bed many times -- no less than a perturbing lapse in sanity. 

This wasn't what Flint offered now. But Silver realized it wasn't too inconceivable an idea, that sharing one intimacy in Thomas's bed might lead to another. 

And it wasn't, exactly, that Silver did not... Had not... Entertained, as it were, the thought of it himself...

Flint's half-smile changed slowly, became more imploring.

"What if I hurt him?" Silver asked, trying to choke down the shards in his throat as Flint's face fell. "What if I hurt you?"

"You won't," Flint said, as if he could be so certain.

"I am not a good man." Flint shook his head and and Silver continued, "When he and I are in the same room, I must imagine what is visible in keen relief is his goodness and my decided lack thereof. No, you cannot tell me you do not harbor doubts. I remain the coiled snake you let onto your ship -- perhaps you once presumed to keep me as a pet, yet what have you learned but that I will strike when threatened, a snake still whatever my skin or how often it is shed."

Flint stood and put his arms around him, his hands gentle on Silver's back. His disbelief was written on his face like a rebuke. "I think I have said this before, but in case I haven't in so many words, allow me to say it now." Flint's voice, rough, grew quiet. "I regret many things; never you. You remain one of the best men I have ever known," he said.

Silver's eyes stung.

Flint said, "And when you and Thomas are in the same room and someone as undeserving as I has been granted such a benediction to be there as well, I am awed at my fortune, that you are both within reach. I would have you both know the whole of it." He kissed Silver, his thumbs wiping away a few unbidden tears that had trailed down Silver's cheeks. "Come to bed." 

Silver kissed him, to weak to deny him anything. He followed him down the hall and watched, distantly amused, as Flint pushed softly at Thomas. 

Thomas snuffled awake, truly awake. His hair stuck up like a ruffled bird's. "Everything all right?" he asked while Flint smoothed a hand over his head. "Good evening, Mr. Silver."

Silver decided to let the honorific pass without comment.

"He's staying in here tonight," Flint said in a low voice, "if you are amendable to the notion."

"I am," Thomas said, stretching into a yawn. He squinted at Silver's foot. "But I must insist he remove his muddy boot before climbing in with us."

"Fair enough," Silver muttered.

He leant his crutch against the bedside table and sat on the edge of the mattress to unbuckle the boot. When it was off Flint pulled him down. With some grappling he was tucked with his back against Flint's front; Flint was presumably tucked against Thomas.

"This is very snug," Thomas commented, sounding enchanted and also slightly sarcastic, which somehow made Silver feel better.

Outside, the storm arrived with lashing rain and wind. In the little bed, there was only warmth. Flint tugged up the quilt. His arm, weighed down by Thomas's, held Silver in place; Silver rested, Flint's heartbeat steady against his, until sleep claimed them all again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title filched from Sir Philip Sidney: "Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, / The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, / The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release..."


End file.
